


Poseidon, God of the Sea

by I_am_the_Muse



Series: Tales of the Gods [6]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Because dinghy is not just a boat, Drowning, F/M, fUCK ME, i might actually end up having to add chapters to these things, maybe? - Freeform, this ended up being way longer than i intended, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:37:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_the_Muse/pseuds/I_am_the_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You open your eyes and stare into clear, crystal blue orbs which in turn stare into your own with barely subdued mirth. Those eyes – beautiful and alluring as they may be – widened quite considerably when you opened your mouth and let out the loudest, shrillest shriek you’d could muster. You were even sure that it was louder than the one you let out when you were 7 and your neighbour’s son stole your favourite teddy bear and ran it over with the lawn mower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poseidon, God of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the tags there might be a trigger warning for drowning? Its not a big bit and i can put in a page break to where it's over.

There hadn’t been a single cloud in sight when you paddled your little dinghy out into the bay. The sun had been high in the sky, bright and hot but the slight sea-breeze caressed your skin, negating the heat of the day. You wore loose khaki shorts and a dark green singlet. The unfortunate tan-line from your bikini you wore the day before was clearly visible, as was the darkening sunburn across the back of your neck and upper back. If you moved too much it would smart fiercely, and as such you were sweating by the time you’d paddled half way across the bay.

You drew the wooden oars back into the dinghy – a boat old enough to be considered a family heirloom. The blue paint had long since chipped off, and your grandfather had told you not to push the dinghy too far out into the bay, in case the decades old wood started to disintegrate in the water or something.

The brown cap you wore shielded your eyes from the sun, but you took it off so you could feel the breeze float over your short cut hair – a new do that suited you well enough but was not exactly what you had been wanting – and you smiled into the sun. You slipped your feet from the plain white flip-flops you wore and laid back between the benches of the boat, closing your eyes from the brightness of the mid-summer sun.

So relaxed were you in your day off, your skin healing from the rigorous beach day you had before, that you didn’t at first notice when the brightness dimmed. It was only when the boat unexpectedly rocked, tipping you over onto your stomach and smooshing your nose into the grain of the boat. You were up quite suddenly after that, and you breathed out a curse as you saw how suddenly the weather had changed around you.

The skies were completely overcast, grey and dark and ominous. Lightning flashed in the distance, yet close enough that you could feel the thunder of it rumbling through the dinghy. Abnormal large waves had begun to form, the swells which were the rocking the boat so much that you had to kneel and grip the benches in the boat just to keep balance.

Rain began to pour down as you tried to steer the boat toward the relative safety of the shore. It was evident that the tumultuous bay-water had no intention of making this easy for you as the storm only picked up, the sea pushing and pulling the boat in every direction, in turn flinging you about the boat and flinging one of the oars out of the slippery grip.

You cried out in alarm when you lost the oar to the ocean, and again when something rammed against the boat, sending you flat on your back and winding you for a moment. You tried to get yourself upright when a wave broke over the boat, pushing you down with the force of it. You noted, with exponentially increasing panic, that every time you tried to make your way up from your back, another wave would break on top of you, forcing you back down. It was if the water had a mind of its own, hands of its own that would push against your shoulders, your legs, holding you down with the strength of a waterfall.

If you had air enough to scream you would have when you fell out of the boat. As it was, you held what little breath you had as you felt yourself being dragged down. The water around you was dark and murky green in colour, and soon you saw bits of wood with chipped blue paint being dragged down along with you. If you weren’t drowning you might have felt saddened at the dinghy’s untimely demise, but that would only serve to remind of your _own_ untimely demise.

The desire to take a breath was unmeasured, and spots danced in front of your eyes. Your life didn’t flash before your eyes – not that you expected it to – but the image of your grandfather, the only living relative you had that you actually cared for, popped in your mind for a moment. He’d be so devastated.

You only notice later that you are decidedly _not_ dead when you feel warm breath being breathed over your slightly blue lips. It smells of the ocean, like sand and salt and that gentle sea breeze that had tricked you earlier on.

You open your eyes and stare into clear, crystal blue orbs which in turn stare into your own with barely subdued mirth. Those eyes – beautiful and alluring as they may be – widened quite considerably when you opened your mouth and let out the loudest, shrillest shriek you’d could muster. You were even sure that it was louder than the one you let out when you were 7 and your neighbour’s son stole your favourite teddy bear and ran it over with the lawn mower.

The man – because upon closer you saw that it was man, a very fit, very taut _naked_ man – that the eyes belonged to stumbled back and stared at you in shock. Apparently he hadn’t heard that kind of shriek come from such a mature woman either.

But he was still _naked_ and kinda hot, but you’d investigate the hot nudity _after_ you were done shrieking from the near-death you just experienced. He raised his hands in placation – but really you’d much rather he’d lower them and cover his _everything_. It took you a moment, but you stopped shrieking and were now only shaking – shivering, actually. You were bloody freezing.

Naked hot guy seemed to notice this and moved forward, arms open as if to embrace you. You didn’t notice until it was too late and suddenly he had you all wrapped in his – yes they were warm – arms and cooing in your ear in this strangely _Irish_ brogue.

“You’re alright, love,” he crooned, and just as you felt your face heat up because you’d almost _died_ and he was _naked_ and you were _wet_ and _you were not on dry land_!!

He set you down after a moment but continued to rub your arms. For your own part you simply crossed your arms over your singlet-covered breasts out of habit. You were soaked through to the bone after all. It was then, of course, that you decided to actually look at what had to be your saviour – perverted maybe due to nakedness, but there might be a reason for that – and noticed his admittedly _shark-like_ grin.

He was incredibly tall – if you stared too long you might get a crick – and had light brown hair, short but not so short as some men did. He had a beard and moustache, brown like his hair, and coarse and scraggly looking. It made him look a little shabby, but at the same time help to accentuate that wicked grin of his. Really, he had to stop staring at you like that.

But back to the not-on-dry-land bit. Oh, land, certainly, but the sand beneath you was wet as if water had just been over it, and there was seaweed growing everywhere, though currently it just looked gooey and slumped over due to the lack of water. The water which just happened to be over your heads. It wasn’t frozen or still; it moved with the currents, curling and swirling and twirling over your heads. It moved over and around as if you space you inhabited was just a rocked and the water made its way around it.

You turned back to the man – was he a man? You weren’t so sure anymore. Not that you questioned his physical gender – no, that was _definitely_ a penis swaying between his legs as he walked towards you – but you did suddenly question his _species_ , because there was no way any actual _human_ would be calm while there was _an ocean_ above their heads.

“What were you doing up there, all by yourself?” he asked you, still grinning, but it faded a bit with concern, “Quite a storm you waded into, love.”

“You’re naked,” you replied dumbly, your eyes on his face even as your mind is still processing the ocean bottom water force field acid-trip going on around you.

“Yes, yes I am,” he responded brightly hands going down to his hips which in turn jut out a little vulgarly and looks down at his own penis, a giggle on his lips. Weirdo. “I don’t see a reason to wear clothes in my own home. Of course, you’re more than welcome to remove your own if you’re jealous of my freedom.”

You squawk at that unintelligibly and one arm goes down to grip your shorts as if the material would disappear if you didn’t. He laughs at that and you shriek when he winks and your clothes disappear. His laughter only grows and you stumble back to hide behind a rock. Definitely not human, you decide, definitely a pervert – or at least an asshole.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry – that was mean of me,” he says leering at you from over the top of the rock. In his hand he holds sheer, white material, which upon further inspection is actually a dress. Well, toga, really. Well, more of a poncho until he gives you a sash to tie around your waist. Not that the dress-toga-poncho does much to cover your modesty. You can see the pink of your nipples though the material, and judging by the way his gaze lingers on your chest, so can he.

You growl and he slides down the rock, hand at the ready for you to take when you come around the rock. You don’t, glaring at him and he just laughs at you, _again_. He leads you away from the rock and you’re quick to follow him when you noticed that the bubble of air under the crushing pressure of the ocean moved with him.

“I’m sorry – well, no, I’m not sorry – but who the _fuck_ are you, and where the _fuck_ am I? I’m just curious and if you could give me back my _actual_ clothes that’d be really fuckin’ nice too, dude.”

“Such language out of a young girl like you,” he snickered and turned his head to gaze at you for a moment, “I find it _incredibly_ arousing.”

You hold back on the exasperated ‘fuck me’ that lies on the tip of your tongue. No need to give him ideas.

“That doesn’t answer my question, _you prick_ ,” you all but snarl instead.

“You’re under the sea,” he says, staring ahead again, “And soon you’ll be in my home.”

He gestures vaguely at the mass of dark objects ahead of you, murky and unfocused through the water. Then he gestures to his still naked self and says, “And I am Poseidon, _God of the Seas_.”

You nearly drown again when you stop suddenly and are engulfed by a wall of water. _Poseidon, God of the Seas_ , notices your surprised gurgling and all too soon you find yourself swept up by the currents and dumped ungracefully into his arms. He catches you easily enough and smirks, “If you’re so intent on drowning I can always leave you here?”

It’s posed as a question and you shake your head vehemently, quite certain in the fact that he’s probably your only way back to the surface. And besides, his _home_ is now completely visible and the sounds of water breaking over rocks has reached your ears. You look up at the mass of rocks, all smoothed down and curved and gentle looking. It’s at odds with the jagged rocks and sheer drops that surrounds it, but you feel oddly safe in the God’s arms – even if he is a jackass.

“It’s dry inside, you can wait there a while, at least until the storm clears up,” he says to you as you enter the great big hole at the front of the stone building. You say nothing, of course, still kind of stuck on the whole _god_ and _seas_ and _storm_ bit.

“Can’t you just make it not storm?” you ask when he sets you down. He has furniture made of rocks and stone and golden things and there are random pools of steaming water scattered across the floor. You found yourself holding onto his arm more often than not to avoid the pools. You knew he was grinning at you, but you didn’t know how deep the waters went.

“Well, I could, but that would be disrupting the natural way of things for no other reason than to get you home,” he says to you, distracting you until he turns you around and gently pushes you back until you’re sitting on a surprisingly soft bed. “And as much as I’d like to win your favour, love, I’d like the oceans to stay as they are more.”

You nod a little dumbly and pat the bed behind you, still quite unsure as to what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Poseidon walks away and you turn around to crawl further up the bed and under the furs – and they are furs and soft silks, though you’re not sure where they came from. It’s soft and warm and dry, and you huddle in, eager to get some rest. You fall asleep quite fast; the sound of waves always used to lull you to sleep as a child.

When you next wake, it’s to a hand lightly stroking your cheek, and tucking stray hairs behind your ear. You open your eyes, and again he’s staring at you with a grin that’s more fond than wicked as it was before. You can’t help but smile at him in return.

“You never answered my question, love,” he says softly, his large warm hand never leaving your face, “What were you doing so far out with such bad weather?”

“There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when I left,” you reply sheepishly and shrug under covers, “and I’m not entirely certain that _you_ had nothing to do with it.”

His own grin turns sheepish at that, and he winks at you. “I just wanted to say hello. Don’t get that many young, pretty girls out on the bay. Mostly old men. At least in the boat you were on-.”

“Yes, well, that boat is now in pieces and _I’m_ certainly not gonna explain that to him,” you interrupt him quickly before he gets anymore ideas. He only raises a brow at that before biting his lip – which you are _definitely_ not salivating over, no sir! – and staring at you with an entirely too mischievous look in his eyes.

“Tell you what, love,” he begins, and his hand slips down your cheek until he can run a thumb along your suddenly dry lower lip, “I’ll put that boat back together, make it as good as new – but it’ll cost you…”

You breath is shallow and you’re not sure how to feel about the way his gaze lingers on your lips as he mutters out _cost_. His own voice has become deep and husky, and sends shivers up your spine.

“What will it cost me?” you ask, too curious and flushed and intoxicated by his presence. You don’t think you can be blamed for that; he is a _god_ after all.

“Just a kiss,” he answers simply, but this time he looks into your eyes. You’re drawn in by those eyes; the colour seems so clear cut, like diamonds or silver. You nod instead of speaking, and the sea god moves his hand again so that he has a surer grip on your cheek. He leans in slowly, grins at you once more and kisses you.

It is not what you expected. No, it is not some wild passionate thing that turns into a battle for dominance. It is a sweet, dry, chaste, closed-mouth sort of thing, and is over in a second. You look at him, a little confused, and he only grins at you, before moving to get up.

Well, what that just won’t do at all.

Before you can think too hard on it, you’ve brought a hand to the back of his to drag him down – not that he put up much of a fight – and his rough, itchy beard is back on your skin, except this time you’ve also thrown an arm over his back so he couldn’t get away.

He steadies himself on an elbow, the hand that was cradling your face now lies somewhere to side to help hold his weight off of you. This time the kiss _is_ something out of the erotica you found in your grandfather’s bookshelves – but less said about that the better – and you moan when he shoves his tongue in your mouth with little grace but then again you’re not exactly elegant with the way you’re trying to thrust your hips up to meet his.

He breaks away very suddenly and you pout without meaning to until he rips the furs and silks away to lay his very naked, very _hard_ body across your own _almost_ naked flushed body. He’s put one leg between yours and the other on the outside of one, and you gasp when his erection digs into your thigh. He smirks at you, and you mentally amend that statement to you gasping when his naked thigh rubs against your naked cunt. His naked, muscled, thick thigh and your very naked, very wet cunt.

He’s mouthing at your neck now, and you give a fleeting thought to the beard burn you’ll no doubt have when all this is done. But then he’s biting down on your pulse and groping your breast and you don’t bother thinking at all.

You’ve thrown one leg over him as much as you can and manoeuvred the other one out from under him. It’s bent at the knee and you adore the purchase it gives you to thrust up and rub your cunt across his throbbing cock. He’s the one to groan this time, and it is such a deep, husky, masculine thing that you’re straining up to meet him again so you can hear the sound once more.

“Naughty,” he growls out between gnawing your collar bones. You know he can just magic your clothes away as he did earlier but you find yourself much more grateful when he rips the dress-toga-poncho straight down middle, sash and all. You find yourself arching your back, not-so-silently begging him to touch you, kiss you, fuck you. He obliges you, the gentleman – gentlegod? – and you whimper as his scraggly beard scratches over your pebbled nipples and outright moan when he takes them in his mouth and bites down gently.

“ _Fuck_.”

That, of course, is from you and you can feel his laughter vibrating through your breast. This only makes you dig your hands into his short hair and guide his mouth towards your other neglected breast. He acquiesces to your silent request and soon he’s kissing and sucking and licking his way down to your hair covered mound.

He, unlike some, wastes no time and goes straight to shoving a finger up your cunt while his tongue searches for your clit. You’re struck by the fact that you hadn’t noticed before now how very long and thick his fingers were. They’re dexterous and quick, just like his tongue and soon you’re gripping onto strands of his short hair and thrusting up into his face. You don’t know when one finger becomes two, or two fingers become three, you’re only aware that you’re coming, quick and sudden and the god trapped between your thighs is shoving his tongue into your orgasming cunt alongside his fingers and the thumb of his free hand his rubbing circles on your clit and you might be screaming.

His beard is wet and smells of you and you can taste yourself on his lips as he moves from your loose thighs and up to kiss you deeply. You whimper from the oversensitivity when you feel his hand at your cunt again, and gasp when he is none-too-gently pushing his dripping cock inside of you.

He groans again and your nails rake down his back as he pushes further in. He’s just so _thick_ and it’s been _so_ long for you and soon he’s thrusting, slowly but deeply and you’re writhing, begging for more friction, more speed, more force.

He stays his slow course but every time he’s close to filling up to the hilt he snaps his hips forward to finish, and you cry out at the sudden surprise of it. You know that he’ll keep doing it, but you love it and he’s got a hand under your knee and he’s pushing it further up, opening you up, snapping his hips forward faster and faster.

Your breaths are quick and shallow and you’d be worried about hyperventilating if it wasn’t for the pleasure he was wreaking through your body. You don’t know if he’s close, but you assume he is as he’s speeding up and his head is bowed down at your neck like a bull about to charge. He’s biting down on your shoulder and neck, rubbing to coarse hairs of his beard across your sensitive skin. The force he uses increases until you wonder if you’ll get bruises from his hips in the morning.

When you come again you _are_ screaming, and digging your nails into his back, and your whole body is taut like a bow string about to be released. He comes soon after, his head thrown back, sounding for all the world like waves breaking on rocks. He seems to glow in that moment, pulsate with some higher energy and then he’s looking down at your, reverence and awe etched on his every feature.

You pass out.

Someone’s calling your name. You feel cold and wet and a little sandy and someone’s hands are on your shoulders. You open your eyes again, and for some reason you feel confused as to why you’re staring up into the grief-stricken face of your grandfather, and not the face of the handsomely bearded god as he comes.

It takes you a moment, but you realise you’re _not_ in some underground rock house, but you’re on the beach, in your shorts and shirt and you have sand on your face and sunburn is aching and it’s still slightly drizzling from the storm you were caught in earlier.

“My dear, I was so worried!” your grandfather tells you and hauls up into his arms so he can hug and warm you up some. You say nothing, but let him help you up to your feet and stumble along next to him away from the roaring ocean.

It must have been some hallucination, you think, some dream you thought up from lack of oxygen. It’s almost disappointing, until something very odd catches you eye.

There in the distance, bobbing gently in a rock pool, is what can only be your grandfather’s dinghy. It looks new and unbroken, and the paint is blue and bright. Shiny red oars hang from the sides and you find yourself grinning like a maniac at it.

Maybe tomorrow you’ll take the boat out to sea once more.

Couldn’t hurt, right?

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry its been such a while but welcome to the 6th installment of the Tales of the Gods series! Hope you all had more fun than I did writing it because for a second there I didn't know if it was every going to end -- anyway. This time we have bearded Michael Fassbender starring as Poseidon, God of the Seas. 
> 
> I'd like to thank carolneves for the suggestion, and if anyone else has any suggestions on what they'd like to see please don't hesitate to add your thoughts in the comments and I will get back to you as soon as I can.
> 
> Until next time!


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